


Send Me A Sign

by MaddyBee



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Prompt Fic, Reader-Insert, Sign Language, Silly, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyBee/pseuds/MaddyBee
Summary: Inspired by a textfromlastnight post - "You were cussing me out in sign language, and slurring your signs."-In which Clint is a mess, and you wouldn't have him any other way.





	Send Me A Sign

When you’d first joined the Avengers, you’d mostly worked behind the scenes. You’d been bumped up on a recommendation from Fury and the request at Tony, both who knew just how good your intelligence skills were. You did it all, creating gadgets, running technological maintenance and interference, collecting information, forming plans - name it, you could do it. 

Due to your skill-set, you rarely went out into the field. This in turn meant that your main communication with the team came from your bi-weekly meetings with Steve, Hill and Fury, and the times you holed up with Tony in his lab to work on a project. You rarely saw the others on the team.

They were all friendly enough whenever you ran into them in the corridors though, or were called in to repair something. Nat and Wanda had taken it upon themselves to start inviting you to lunch after the first couple of weeks of working with them, and sometimes Bucky or Sam would keep you company if you were working in the main compound.

Clint, however, was just Nat’s friend. The one with the bow and arrow. You didn’t share anything more than a smile with him for a while. 

It was your knack for designing weapons that finally brought the two of you together. 

You were in the armory, restocking bullets and communicators and everything else an Avenger could need when the team was called for a mission. As they all piled in to grab supplies, you wished them luck and waved them off. Clint was the last in, and you could see him carefully studying an arrow from the new bunch you’d stuck in his quiver.

“It’s a new design, super lightweight and aerodynamic, plus it sends out shockwaves on impact. Thought you could try it out for me.”

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised. You shrugged and smiled.

“I got bored.”

Clint huffed in amusement, taking the new arrows and turning to leave the room with a simple ‘thank you’ thrown over his shoulder. 

You shook your head with a grin and went back to counting tasers - he was a weird one. 

xxxx

It was 3 days before the team returned, tired and bruised, but happy. 

You were sat at the kitchen table, taking advantage of an empty compound to work in the open rather than holing yourself up in your apartment - you hated feeling like you were intruding on the team. 

The tabletop was covered in tools and mechanical bits, and you were elbow-deep in a deactivated bomb when Clint found you. It wasn’t until he chuckled at the string of swear words you were spitting that you realised he was there. 

Looking up sheepishly, you blew the hair out of your face and shot him a smile.

“How was the mission?”

“A success, everything went to plan. Well, Sam’s bitching up a storm but he only sprained his wrist, he’s being a baby.” He sat backwards on the chair opposite you, intently watching what you were doing. “Is that thing eating you?”

You glared playfully at him and told him off for underestimating you. He laughed loudly, then watched you work silently for another minute. 

“The arrows were great by the way, worked like a dream. You’ve got a real talent.” His tone was casual, fingers scratching his chin idly, but his praise still made you blush. You buried your face further into the bomb to hide your cheeks. 

“Sounds like the team would have been screwed without you.”

“Without you, more like.”

You raised your gaze slowly to find him staring at you thoughtfully, lips twisted into an easy smile. You felt yourself grinning back without even trying. 

xxxx

It was hard to think that 3 years ago, you’d been Maria Hill’s assistant, and now, you were a fully fledged Avenger, sat on a sofa next to Thor, betting on who’d win the arm wrestle taking place between Nat and Sam. 

You were buzzed on the atmosphere, unable to stop smiling as you repeatedly looked over the room full of your friends, so thankful for everything you had. It was one of those nights. 

The rest of the party had been kicked out half an hour ago, and now it was just the team and a few special guests left over. Everyone else was pretty drunk, but some of them were definitely on the way to wasted - and by someone, you meant Clint. 

Your idiotic boyfriend who was celebrating his birthday by dancing on the pool table to Beyonce. He’d probably regret it in the morning when he woke up in pain from falling off the table, but there’d be no stopping him - Partition was his jam. 

As he reached out a hand to tug a laughing Wanda up to join him, you turned away with an affectionate shake of your head. Letting yourself behind the bar, you went about fixing another jug of mojito that was sure to be gone within 5 minutes of you setting it down in front of the others. As the music was turned up, everything gathered around Clint, screaming the lyrics and shaking their hips like a bunch of idiots. 

God, you loved them all.

While you were busy staring, Nat sidled up next to you to and began to fill cups with the mix. 

“You ok over here?”

“Yeah, I’m just so happy.”

She threw you the side-eye, knowing smile playing on her lips. 

“And how’s the whole ‘not drinking’ thing?”

“Horrible. But hey, it’s worth it.”

You wiped the counter clean and grabbed yourself your own mocktail as Nat picked up the tray of glasses and led the way back to the coffee table. You were out of hearing-range of the rest (not that they’d be able to hear you over the music if they were sat more than 3 feet away from you anyway) so Nat took a quick sip before resuming the conversation.

“I still don’t understand how he hasn’t figured it out. He’s supposed to be a spy.”

You both glanced over to where said-spy was currently slut-dropping. You didn’t know what to say to that. 

“I’m telling him tomorrow, over breakfast when I know he won’t forget it 20 seconds later.” Chewing your lip, you were suddenly struck with a thought that caused your brow to furrow. “Do you think he’ll be happy?”

Nat gave you a look that basically said ‘don’t be a dumbass, you know he’s going to be ecstatic, jesus aren’t you meant to be a genius?’ so you did the smart thing and shut up. 

You placed a hand on your stomach, smiling down at the barely-there bump. You were finally getting the great life you’d always dreamed about.

A massive thump sounded throughout the room, followed quickly by a long, deep ‘ow’.

A life that now included a concussed partner. 

xxxx

Getting Clint to go to bed was challenge enough. Getting him up the next day was a lot trickier.

You gave up after 10 minutes of gently trying to coax him awake to no avail, and left the bed to start breakfast. Although you still lived in the compound, you and Clint had a suite rather than just a room, which meant you could cook in one of his t-shirts and a lacy pair of underwear - it was his birthday after all.

You were flipping the last pancake before you finally heard sounds of life coming from the bedroom. The sounds were groans of pain, but it was still a step in the right direction. You set the table and poured out the extra-strong coffee, just placing the mugs on the coasters when Clint finally emerged clad only in a pair of sweats, fixing his hearing aid in place. 

You curled up on your chair with a smirk on your face as you watched the bedraggled man slouch across the room, fall into the chair and lay face down on the wood with a long groan. With a snort of laughter, you reached a hand out to play with his hair. You soothed him for a minute, then gave a sharp tug to the short strands, causing him to fling his head up with a miserable whine. 

“Feeling ok there, birthday boy?”

Clint gave you a pathetic glare and swigged his coffee, clearly not in the mood to deal with you and your sarcasm in his condition. 

You tried again. “Do you remember anything that happened last night?”

“I remember dancing and tequila shots,” he replied slowly, brow furrowed as he thought hard. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I do remember you looked hot as all hell though.”

You laughed at the dorky wink he sent you, that feeling of contentedness once again washing over you. You fixed him with a sly eye, and waited till he was taking a bite of bacon before you spoke again.  
“You slut-dropped for Sam.”

His expression once he’d stopped choking was priceless.

“I wasn’t that drunk, was I?”

“I practically had to carry you to bed, and you got mad at me because I wouldn’t let you watch Chicken Run. You were cussing me out in sign language.” He winced. “I didn’t even know it was possible to slur signs.”

Dropping his head into his hands in defeat, Clint let out a pitiful moan as you giggled, poking his side to make him sit up and assuring him that it was funny, and that the others had all been just as wasted.

He watched you closely as he went back to eating, almost quizzically, and it was making you uncomfortable. You tolerated it for a few minutes before it got too much and you asked him what he was staring at.

“I just...you didn’t drink last night, did you? What’s up with that? Thought you’d be all over the chance to get into Tony’s stash.”

He had a cheeky grin on his face as he joked, but you could see his eyes were still searching for an answer - it was in his nature after all. 

Taking a deep breath, you took his hands in yours. As you opened your mouth to talk, you choked up, tears leaking down your cheeks even as you grinned.

“Ok hun, you’re kinda scaring me now. What’s happening?”

Gently, you pulled your joined hands towards you, laying his palms flat against your slightly protruding stomach, hidden from view under the large tee. His eyes widened as he stared at his hands, mouth moving but no sounds coming out.

“Happy birthday babe. Hope you’re ready to be a dad, because you’ve got about 6 months to prepare.”

Clint laughed, pulling you to your feet and spinning you round the kitchen as his eyes welled with tears of joy. He kissed you deeply before dropping straight to his knees on the lino floor, whispering to your stomach about how he would do everything he could to be the greatest dad in the world, and you knew then that you were the luckiest girl alive for being able to call this dorky, caring, chaotic man your’s.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, hey, oops I accidentally abandoned all my other fics for weeks because I've been both busy and uninspired, but I'm getting back into it so expect updates on all my works soon!


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